Lone Wolf's Lady. Judy Duarte

be alone, Ian. If things go as planned, I’ll be traveling with Miss Potts and Sarah Jane.”

      “You’re going to travel with a prostitute?” His voice rose an octave, and his face grew rosy and bright. “Have you lost your mind completely?” Ian slapped his good hand upon his hip. “Katie, listen to reason for once in your life. Women of virtue don’t go to the Wyoming Territory, especially with soiled doves. They stay home and wait for a man to court them.”

      It was the same argument he’d used each time she showed her stubborn streak, so she wasn’t surprised. Still, her answer was always the same. “That’s not going to happen. Getting married would strip me of what few rights a woman has in this world.”

      “Well, it’s probably just as well that you remain a spinster. You’d drive your first husband crazy and the second to drink.”

      “You may be right,” Katie said with a chuckle. “But if I should suffer a blow to the head causing me to reconsider marriage, I’ll look for a man as fair-minded as you or Da.”

      “Humph. Don’t try to flatter me.”

      Katie stepped forward and wrapped the old man in a warm embrace. “I love you, Ian. You know that, don’t you?”

      The tension in his stance eased, and he hugged her back. “I love you, too, Katie. You’ve been the daughter I never had.”

      Ian would be as angry as a hornet in a bowl of honey if he knew all the details of her trip, of the possible danger, of her determination to adopt Sarah Jane in the end, but he’d settle down in a day or so. He always did when he realized her mind was made up. And it was.

      Katie was going to take Sarah Jane to Wyoming, and nobody was going to stop her.

      * * *

      Needless to say, Katie had packed her clothing and toiletries into a valise as quickly as possible, then she’d hurried to the livery stable and rented a gentle roan mare. After mounting and adjusting her skirts, she rode to the Gardener’s House to meet Mr. McCain.

      Since she preferred not to butt heads with Sweet Heather again, she decided to wait outside. So she dismounted and tied her mare next to McCain’s big bay gelding and the snorting team of horses harnessed to a buckboard.

      Someone had already packed the wagon and lined the bed with several quilts. They’d also rigged a small canvas tarp over the top to provide the injured woman with a bit of shade. Katie wondered if one of the fallen women had thought of it—or if McCain had.

      Before she could consider the thoughtful gesture, the brothel’s front door swung open, and McCain stepped onto the porch with Daisy—or rather, Erin—in his arms. The injured woman wore a light blue dress—a plain and simple style with long sleeves and a delicate bow tied at the neckline. With her dark hair swept up into a modest topknot, she appeared to be as proper as any of the other ladies in town.

      Katie thought it made a clever disguise, if one could call it that.

      As McCain carried Erin down the porch steps, Katie caught a glimpse of the black eye and the nasty bruise that marred one side of her face, mocking the ladylike clothing. As they crossed the yard, Katie had a better view of her injuries and winced at the brutality of the attack.

      She’d been so taken by the sight of the battered woman that she just now noticed Sarah Jane trailing behind. The child, her head downcast, wore a yellow calico dress and a small pair of moccasins on her feet.

      Katie made her way to the little girl, then dropped to her knees and hugged her close. But instead of returning the embrace, Sarah Jane’s arms hung loosely at her sides.

      “Oh, honey,” Katie said, hoping to infuse a little warmth and joy back into her. “I’m so glad to see you.”

      Katie’s heart ached at the thought of what the child had witnessed, what she’d been through.

      “Come on,” McCain said. “We don’t have time for idle chitchat. Let’s get them in the wagon.”

      Katie didn’t intend to dawdle. For goodness’ sake, she wanted to get the child—and herself!—as far away from the brothel as they could. But she couldn’t help being concerned about the girl and ignored the man long enough to satisfy her curiosity.

      “Are you all right, honey?” Katie asked.

      Sarah Jane nodded.

      “Who hurt you?”

      The child’s gaze dropped to the small, beaded moccasins she wore.

      Katie placed her fingertip under Sarah Jane’s chin and lifted her face. “It’s all right. I’m here now, and I’ll protect you. You can tell me what happened.”

      “She can’t talk,” McCain said.

      Katie knew she’d been traumatized, but she’d thought, well, hoped that her arrival, her presence and voice, might soothe the frightened girl, might comfort her.

      Footsteps sounded behind her, and Katie turned to see a tall blonde carrying a large basket in the crook of her arm. A stocky brunette followed behind toting a white ceramic chamber pot.

      “I’ve packed some vittles for you to take,” the blonde said. “It’ll be suppertime before you know it. And since Doc don’t want Daisy to walk or move around very much, we thought it might be best if you took this pot along, too. That way she won’t have to climb in and out of the wagon.”

      Katie knew Daisy had been injured, but she hadn’t realized how laid up she’d be on the trip. But that didn’t matter. Katie was prepared to take care of her, as well as Sarah Jane.

      She’d nursed her da for several weeks before he passed, so she was used to tending the sick. And while being on the trail would be different from being at home, she was prepared to do whatever needed to be done.

      According to McCain, the trip would take several days. Katie wondered what they would eat after they’d finished the food in the basket. She hated to think that they’d have to scavenge the countryside for berries, seeds and wild game. Surely someone had thought to pack more supplies. But if they hadn’t? Well, she’d think of something. She always did.

      Katie stood, shook the dust from her skirts and reached for Sarah Jane’s hand. “Come on, honey. We’re going on a grand adventure.”

      McCain, who’d helped the injured woman settle into the bed of the wagon, glanced her way and frowned.

      Didn’t he realize that Katie simply had been trying to reassure the child? She certainly wasn’t looking forward to spending the next few days sleeping outdoors and eating whatever they managed to find, especially under his watch. Would she ever see his gaze untouched by judgment? A small part of her couldn’t help wishing so.

      “By the way,” Katie said to McCain, deciding she deserved more information than he’d given her. “Do we have any pans for cooking? Or maybe a coffeepot?”

      His scowl confirmed that he might have agreed to take her along, but he certainly wasn’t the least bit happy about it. When he finally spoke, his words came out short and snappish. “This isn’t a picnic, Miss O’Malley.”

      Under other circumstances, Katie might have let loose with an angry retort, but she bit her tongue, knowing it wouldn’t do her any good to irritate him further, at least until they were too far along for him to change his mind and send her home.

      “Tom,” the blonde said, “I’ve got one more box to go on that wagon, and I’ll need some help lifting it.”

      “There’s not much room, Rose.”

      “It’s not big, just a wee bit heavy.”

      McCain started toward the house, then paused when he reached Katie. “Help Sarah Jane into the wagon.”

      If Katie weren’t so eager to get the child away from the brothel and this town, she’d remind him that she didn’t take orders, and that a “please”